Black Is The ColourBlack is the colour of my true love’s hair.Her lips are something rosy fair.The loveliest face and the daisiest hands.I love the ground whereon she stands.

I love my love and well she knows.I love the ground whereon she goes.If she concurs no more I’ll see.My life will quickly leave me.

I’ll go down the troublesome,to mourn, to weep.But satisfied I ne’re can sleep.I’ll write her a note, in a few little lines.I’ll suffer death ten thousand times.

Black, black, black is the colour.Black is the colour of my true love’s hair.Her lips are something rosy fair.The loveliest face and the daisiest hands.I love the ground whereon she stands.Black, black.Black is the colour of her hair.